


Fourteen Nothing Dogs

by edylue



Category: Original Work
Genre: Appalachia, Gen, Memoirs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-02 08:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10941093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edylue/pseuds/edylue
Summary: We are fourteen, and no one thinks we're going to make it.





	Fourteen Nothing Dogs

**Author's Note:**

> request: memoir told in the same style as scott mcclanahan's _crapalachia: a biography of a place_ (this wasn't hard to do, as my writing style is very much like his in the first place)

When I am fourteen, it is cold. It is always cold. We are in the woods, in the middle of nowhere, and we feel safe. There is stillness in the air, and it always smells like it has recently rained. It sticks to the trees, to the canopy above our heads, and we feel at home. When I am fourteen, my house is void of my sister and me. We are with our friends. They are different from us, but we are the same. We are fourteen, and we pretend to be safe on this dirt road that leads to a place we call Who Knows Where.

There are five of us, including myself. Their names, not including my sister and me, all start with the letter _K_. One of them has a boyfriend, and his parents think it's hilarious. They call the girls the KKK, and we laugh because we are young, and don't know any better. I know better now. When I'm not fourteen, I realize calling three young white girls the KKK is pretty fucked up, but I think it's okay because we are fourteen at the time, and we don't know.

We are in the woods. It looks like the woods, but I know it's not the woods. The woods don't have paths, and it doesn't have houses, but this woods does. It has a street and little homes with their front porch lights on to scare away the monsters. The lights don't reach out that far, so from where we're standing, in this dirt road, we aren't protected from the monsters. Anything could grab one of our ankles and drag us through the mud and trees. Would anybody hear us scream, if we were devoured by the monsters? It would probably echo, but nobody would come out to check. They're safe in their little houses, so why would they leave, why would they risk their comfort and stability? We are fourteen, and no one thinks we're going to make it.

The monsters in the woods are old. The woods we are in are called Horn Holler, and it is a scary place. There are long winding trails and a lot of trees with branches that can snake out and scratch a long stripe of brown blood and grime along a cheekbone. At least, that's how I remember it. I don't remember a lot. Five years it has been since my last visit, but it's okay if I don't visit, and it's okay if I don't remember. It's okay because I don't think my friends remember either. They don't remember our friendship. They shove it aside in their refrigerator brains to slide in a new dish of people. Our friendship is in the freezer, and it's getting freezer burn. They won't notice, so I hope it's okay if they like freezer-burnt food.

When I am fourteen, I am in Horn Holler, in the middle of nowhere. The trees are whispering, but I am inside a house. It isn't a little house, like the others. To my fourteen-year-old self, it is a big house. It is a big house with no locks and door knobs, but I feel safe from the monsters outside. The monsters are crawling inside, though because my friend, the one whose name starts with _K_ and ends in _atelynn_ is telling us about the monsters. "There's one of them," she says, from her position on her huge fortress of mattress and pillows, "that's called Mama Horn. That's where this place is named from. I think they said she was a really old woman that was a prostitute and died or something." She has the television remote in her hand, and we are watching _Criss Angel: Mindfreak_. "She doesn't have teeth, too. Just gums. She died around here. That's why this place is called that." Criss Angel levitates. "She had a whole bunch of kids. She was green, too. I dunno what happened."

We try to levitate, too, but we can't. Maybe we aren't breathing the right way. We don't try again.

When I am fourteen, we go out after dark. Katelynn's family likes bonfires and marshmallows. We smell smoke, but it's okay because the adults have it under control. When I am fourteen, I don't sleep. At Horn Holler, we don't sleep. We go outside, and it is cold because it is always cold when we are fourteen. We don't have much to talk about.

"Do you remember Morgan?" my friend whose name starts with a _K_ and ends with an _ylee_ says.

"Oh, yeah, she ripped off my door," Katelynn responds.

"Yeah, and remember that time she got that nosebleed after we watched that scary movie?"

"Yeah, yeah, that was weird."

We don't have much to talk about. We are only fourteen, and there are only five of us. On this night, I don't remember if my last friend has joined us. Her name also starts with a _K_ , but it ends with _elsey_. I don't like her, so it would make sense for me not to remember her. I don't know why I don't like her. I am fourteen, and frankly, I don't remember much. Is that bad? I ask myself, but I don't remember the answer.

We are in the woods. All we hear is silence, and we can see the little houses with their guardian lights peeking from beyond. Katelynn tells us ghost stories. "I would lay in bed, and I would hear this rolling across the floor," she says in a low whisper, as if the monsters around us would pick up tips, "and it was freaking me out because I could hear static on my TV, but it wasn't on, and then I could feel this man standing in the corner of my room and watching me, and then there was this smack on my window, and I got outta my bed, and there was a handprint where I heard the smack, and the handprint was like a man's." Katelynn nods, and her eyes are wide, and she is scared. "I was scared." Our eyes are wide, and we are scared.

Of course we believe in ghost stories. We are fourteen, and it makes sense. It makes as much sense as alien abductions and why there are no ugly dogs. We are terrified, and we are in the middle of Who Knows Where. The house beside us has a motion-sensor light, and we have stopped moving. It goes off, and we are in the dark. We are in the dark, and we are terrified. We don't know where we're going, so we touch arms and try to walk. The crunch of dirt beneath our feet is nerve-racking because we are wearing flip-flops, and it is cold. We aren't wearing long pants. We are wearing big hooded sweatshirts that don't belong to us because it is cold. It is cold, and we can't feel each other's hands. I am holding pinkies with Kylee, and our fingers are cold. I am warm inside, but I am cold outside. We swing our arms and pretend everything is fine. We see something in the road, though, and I am the first to point it out. I don't say it for a while. I don't know how long a while is, but it feels like a while.

"Do you see that?" I ask, and point with the hand Kylee isn't holding.

"Is it a dog? Do you see a dog?" Kylee asks, and I am scared again because I see a dog. I tell Kylee this.

"Yeah, I see a dog."

We all see a dog. The dog is sort of gray, but the outline is kind of white. It isn't a normal dog. A normal dog would have its paws on the ground, and its tail would be wagging, and it would be happy to see us. Its head would be raised, and its mouth would be open, and it would be happy to see us. Its eyes would be bright, and it would be barking, and it would be happy to see us.

The dog we see is nothing. It is nothing. It is made of nothing but shades of gray and white. We can't tell what color its eyes are. It is too dark, but maybe the dog doesn't have any eyes. The dog doesn't have any eyes, and it doesn't have a tail because it isn't wagging it to greet us. A dog would wag its tail because a dog would have a tail, but this isn't a dog because it isn't happy to see us.

"What do we do?" I don't remember whose voice I hear.

When I am fourteen, my friends and I are idiotic enough to walk toward a Nothing Dog.

The Nothing Dog doesn't move. The Nothing Dog doesn't bark. The Nothing Dog doesn't wag its tail. The Nothing Dog isn't happy to see us.

I don't remember. We are walking toward it. And then, we scream. I don't know why. Maybe we see the Nothing Dog's head turn, and we see it has no eyes, or we see it has two black holes for eyes, or maybe we see it has two glowing white orbs as eyes. It has eyes, but it has no eyes. We scream, and we run. My sister and I are smaller than our friends, so we run faster. I am dragging Kylee along. I don't want to let go of her hand. We don't feel safe anymore. We are running from the Nothing Dog, and it is only when we get to the end of the road that we notice we have run the wrong way. When we turn, we hear an owl, and we see the Nothing Dog has followed us. The stance isn't changed, and it looks as still as the statue it was before, but it has moved because we have run away, and it is behind us.

I don't remember if we scream again, but we run again. I am on Kylee's back, and my sister is on Katelynn's, and we become a giant Trojan house. We gallop and listen to our feet slap against the dirt. We run into the Nothing Dog, and we don't know what happens to it because it is nothing. The Nothing Dog is nothing.

We are inside where it is warm, and our cheeks are red, and our throats are sore, and I am still on Kylee's back. My arms are around her neck, and I can still see the Nothing Dog when I close my eyes. "Want to play Xbox?" Katelynn asks, and it is a wonder how she can bounce back, but I remember she has a man in her room who likes to roll on the carpet and slap windows. "We can use my brother's account. He said it's okay if we mess up his kill streak."

When I am fourteen, it is cold. My fingers are wrapped around my toes, and we play video games and listen to front porch lights turn on and scare away the monsters. Everything is better when I am fourteen because I have friends who can toss me onto their backs and rush me through dogs made of nothing and shield me from stories of a giant green mother with horns. We sit on the floor, and we are still cold from the outside, but it's okay because we're warm on the inside. We sit on the floor, and we try not to think about how we are made of the same nothing as the dog we saw outside.


End file.
